


(ONE-SHOT) Non-Standard Negotiations

by Omnibard



Series: Cathedral of You [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 07:48:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13922631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibard/pseuds/Omnibard
Summary: 'Andali Jeran' used with permission from ProwlingThunder





	(ONE-SHOT) Non-Standard Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProwlingThunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/gifts).



> 'Andali Jeran' used with permission from ProwlingThunder

“Thank you for your concerns, Marshal, I will take them into consideration.  Good day.” Then the Steward shut the door in his face, unrepentant and unruffled by the blistering glare of the other man.  Andali heard Ariel trying to convince the Immortal to _let it go_.

She thought she’d be used to the foreign lord just doing whatever he damn well pleased, but she was choking down shock when he turned his olive green gaze toward her.  It was… always terribly intimidating when he looked at her.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” She blurted, immediately feeling foolish and clumsy.

The beautiful lips twisted into that bemused half-smile and he gave a casual roll of a shoulder—the barest gesture that could still be considered a _shrug_ —and indicated the couch in the room, “Will you sit, my dear?”

Clutching the bag of fragrant hot peppers—Galahdian wildfire peppers, which the Steward had promised her—to her chest, the Glaive briefly considered bolting for the window and warping out.  She abandoned the notion, however, when she realized that then she’d have to deal with the Crownsguard Marshal.

That, and she’d never been able to really escape the Steward.  He was all the way _here_ after all, in Lestallum, despite the lockdown in Insomnia and his status of political asylum there.  It was one of the things she wanted him to explain—how he’d done it.  Along with _why_.

And _why_ had Ardyn taken her from her companions to hold her hostage for… his presence during a lunch?  What was the connection between them?

The finely arched crimson eyebrow crept further up his noble brow—the man was insufferably beautiful, carved exquisitely out of pale, flawless marble with long, scarlet hair better kept than most women’s—and Andali was again caught up in a mix of cautious awe and lust that never failed to numb her.  The couch waited, and she settled on it with less grace than she would have liked.  He joined her, settling easily like a cat.  Like a couerl.

“How long have you known?” Was his casual question, reaching with both hands to take the bag of peppers from her.

She held them closer, unsure exactly why, but thinking she needed their _protection_ between the two of them, “Known what?”

“That you carried my… child.”

It was a terrible hesitation.  Never once had the Steward hesitated in his speech—words and their power came easily to him, as they _ought to—_ and the pause in this statement was significant.  It seemed as if he’d meant to say something _else_ , something with far greater weight and consequence.

Something that rang with _loss_ to Andali and spooked her.  Galahdians knew loss perhaps no better than other refugees, but they knew the harsh political realities of it more intimately.  Their people came with a reputation often confused with a synonym for ‘irresponsibility’.  Such prejudices encouraged the local authorities where they gathered to take unfair liberties…

The bag was forgotten, plucked easily from her grasp and set aside, but she was moving now.  Standing.  She pushed away his hands and sought to move away from the couch, back to the door.  She’d _deal_ with the Marshal’s steely disapproval—damn him to the flames and depths of Ravatogh for his endless _judgement_ —but this conversation was not something she wanted to hear any longer.

“Why are you running?” His hand caught her wrist.  His hands always surprised her—beautiful and strong, the skin smooth and unmarred, but the callouses and strength in his grip revealing that the sword he carried at his back was not for show.

“Let me go.”

“If I do, you will leave,” He said it quietly, without accusation, simply observing the truth aloud to her.

“It’s none of your business.”

“I beg your pardon,” He chuckled, bemused, and the sound fluttered through the Galahdian’s belly, “It’s _entirely_ my business—“

“It’s not yours.” She blurted.  It was a lie, of course, and she knew it.  She knew it and Ariel knew it and apparently even _Ardyn_ somehow knew it, but if the Steward believed otherwise…  Then he couldn’t stop her and send her back to Insomnia now.  He couldn’t take her baby from her.

Even so, she couldn’t look him in the face to say it.

She missed the quiet, gentle expression on his face—how it turned into something very briefly warm before settling into the businesslike, closed-but-often-slightly-bemused expression that usually rested there—before he pulled her steadily back toward him, gathering her in his arms.

“Even if that were true—and we both understand that it is not—I would have come,” Andali marveled at how easily and gently he folded her against his body and the seat of the couch, despite her meager resistance.  It did not surprise her how comforting the familiar strength and size of his frame were, regardless of her quiet protests. “You are fundamentally precious to me.  I would not see you endangered—certainly not on my behalf.  Nor distressed.”

“Why?” It was the third foolish thing she’d blurted and she briefly considered resigning from speaking for the rest of his meeting.

Fingers combed through her hair at the temples before ghosting down the nape of her neck, “Would it please the Lady Glaive to learn she has captured this lord’s heart?” She heard him muse, the rumble of his baritone a comfort through his chest, “Shall I attempt to put it to words and embarrass myself for her vanity?”

Cor was going to _kill her_.  Nyx and the others were going to _kill her laughing_. “You _can’t_ be in love with me.”

“As the lady wishes, I’ll endeavor not to.”

“Lord Trahearn…”

“--Though, the lady makes it very difficult, what with her reckless abandon in gallivanting across the continent on a mad quest—“

She managed to push away from his chest—missing the warmth and security of it immediately—face starting to flush indignantly, “Ferrus!”

He laughed then, and kissed her, and the Galahdian forgot what she’d been trying to protest.

“I shall grant you the half-hour to say your farewells, but then we must make our return to Insomnia, Andali.”

She stared at him, trying to shake the heat from her blood enough to look properly serious, “I don’t want to go.”

“Nor do I, as the state I left it will make a return tiresome, but I must, and I cannot return without you.”

“Ferrus, I need to do this.”

He cupped her face with both hands, and Andali trembled in anticipation and dread that he might kiss her again and sink her resolve, “I understand.  But you carry my child, beloved, and we must make decisions best for the one who cannot protect himself.”

“You can’t _take him_!” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded unnecessarily shrill, like the cry of a wounded animal.

“Oh.”

A thumb traced her lip before he bent and pressed his against her brow, “No.  I cannot.  That is why I’ve come to take _you_ , beloved.  He will have need of you, as will I, and I must insist that he wants for _nothing_.  Upon my honor.”

Andali was shivering, unsure if she understood the fullness of everything he was saying, only knowing that such a man as he did not say such things lightly. “He’ll… need a home.”

“He’ll have one.”

“He’ll be _Galahdian_.”

“He’ll be Seraphagien, and he will have Aisaure,”

“He’ll be _Galahdian!_ ”

That half-smile twisted again, stabbing straight through her heart and into her loins, quickening her, “Very well.  Then I suppose he must needs have Galahd as well.”

“Galahd is gone.”

“Galahd is captured, and as I have sworn upon my honor that my child will want for nothing, I shall take it back single-handedly as necessary—though it shan’t be, as I’ve already delivered an army for the pleasure of your crown…”

“This is crazy.  That’s _crazy_ —“

“Surely it isn’t so strange?”

“You’re _crazy_ , why would you—“

“I am Seraphagien,” He said, as if it explained and answered all of her questions to satisfaction, “I am a Seraphagien lord in love—no power in this world can stand against my resolve.”

Andali kissed him, bruising hard, terrified and wondrous, heart too full and thoughts too disarrayed to do anything else.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Got questions? Want to talk about it? [Here's your mic! ](https://mtraki.tumblr.com/ask)


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